


A New Instrument

by kiranerys42



Series: Musician Patrick [1]
Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Competency Kink, Established Relationship, Hand & Finger Kink, Humor, M/M, Music, Podfic Welcome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-09-02 00:27:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20267017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiranerys42/pseuds/kiranerys42
Summary: Patrick learns to play a new musical instrument, and David has some feelings about it. Then it happens again. And again.





	A New Instrument

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [whetherwoman](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whetherwoman) for betaing; your encouragement and insight are invaluable.
> 
> If you'd like to listen along with David, you can find links to the musical inspiration for this fic in the end notes!

Since that first open mic, David had gradually become accustomed to the monthly event that Patrick hosted at the store. They had a sort of compromise worked out—David always made an appearance, but he didn’t always stay the whole time. How long he stayed mostly depended on whether or not Bob was there, because so far, David had managed to avoid hearing his beat poetry, and he wanted to keep it that way.

But tonight, Patrick had insisted that he needed to get there early and stay the entire time. So David had dutifully shown up an entire twenty minutes early. He could hear Patrick in back getting ready, but didn’t want to disturb him, so he tried to find something to do to keep himself busy. He was fiddling with the lip balm display at the register when out of the corner of his eye he saw Patrick emerge from the stockroom with a decidedly unfamiliar musical instrument strapped to his chest.

“Um. What is _that_?” David gestured at the _thing_ strapped to Patrick’s chest.

“Oh, this?” Patrick gestured at the monstrosity as if he somehow hadn’t noticed it was there. “This is an accordion, David.”

David tried to ignore the sense of déjà vu, because while the situation might seem similar on the surface, there was really no comparison. This was _far_ worse than when he’d seen Patrick with his guitar before that first open mic. 

“Mmhm, yes, I can see that, I do in fact know what an—I mean. I know what it _is,_ ” David stammered, unable to bring himself to utter the word ‘accordion.’ “What I mean to say is, why did you bring it _here_?” David spread his hands out to more clearly indicate the exact area in which it was incorrect to bring an accordion, which included the entirety of Rose Apothecary.

“Well, David, you may not have heard, but I host an open mic. People often bring an instrument to play at an open mic.”

“And where exactly did you get it?” 

“You’re just full of questions tonight, aren’t you?”

Patrick looked very pleased with himself. David glared at him, but it only made Patrick look even more pleased.

“It’s been gathering dust in my aunt’s garage for the past twenty years or so,” Patrick explained. “I helped to clean out her garage when I was visiting my parents last week, and she said I could have it. I thought it might be fun to play at the open mic tonight.”

“And you didn’t think to warn me before you decided to bring that… that _thing _into our store?”

“David, I don’t need your permission to get an accordion, and I certainly don’t need your permission to play it at the open mic that I host.” Patrick didn’t look pleased anymore. He looked irritated.

David knew he was being unreasonable, and he knew he needed to back off. But he couldn’t stop himself.

“The only correct situation for accordion is if you’re in Venice, being serenaded during a gondola ride at dusk. And even then, you’re probably better off without.”

“Well, I’m sorry I couldn’t afford to take you to Venice, but you did seem to like it last time I serenaded you in the store.”

David stepped forward and reached out to touch Patrick, then realized that he couldn’t get very close while the…_thing_…was there. He settled for resting a hand on Patrick’s shoulder.

“Patrick, I loved it when you serenaded me. On guitar. A normal musical instrument. I mean, it was also incredibly stressful and a little bit embarrassing.” Patrick raised his eyebrows. “Not—I mean—not because of anything you did. You were amazing. It’s just. It's a lot. To be serenaded in public like that.”

Patrick’s face softened. “If it helps, I won’t be singing this time.”

David swallowed. “So, it’s just the…” Carefully sliding his hand off Patrick’s shoulder, he pointed at the accordion from a few inches away, not quite able to bring himself to touch it.

Patrick nodded. “If you think Venice is the only appropriate setting for an accordion, does that mean you don’t like tango?”

David’s eyes grew wide. “Tango is also acceptable. I suppose.”

“In that case, I’ll save the polka for next time.” 

David opened his mouth to respond, because polka was _ definitely _incorrect. But before he had a chance to say anything, the front door opened, and Alexis walked in.

“Oh my _ god_, Patrick, is that an _ accordion_?”

Later that evening, the tango Patrick played was—almost tasteful, somehow? David had not known accordion could be tasteful. It was simple, not showy, and it wasn’t too slow or too fast. It was both haunting and melancholy, but not at all depressing. David decided that maybe accordion was acceptable. Sometimes. If Patrick was the one playing it.

* * *

“Um. Patrick? What is this new accordion doing in the closet?” 

A few months had passed since the Accordion Incident, and David hadn’t given it further thought. Now here he was, minding his own business, digging through Patrick’s closet to look for a sweater he’d left at his apartment last week, and definitely _ not _ expecting to run across an accordion-looking thing. Wait, was this even an accordion? 

“And why is the, uh, piano bit of it missing? It only has buttons? Is it broken?” David craned his neck to look back at Patrick, who was in the kitchen washing dishes. 

“Oh, that’s a concertina,” Patrick shouted a bit over the sound of the running water.

“Mmhm, okay, well who’s Tina and what did she do to this accordion?”

Patrick turned off the water and dried his hands, then walked over to the closet and placed a hand on David’s back as he squatted down next to him to examine the weird, broken accordion.

“A concertina is like an accordion, except there’s no keys. Just buttons.”

“And you have one because…”

Patrick stroked David’s back soothingly. “Morgan asked if I wanted to borrow it.”

“Morgan?”

“Yes, Morgan, she makes the little wooden animals we sell at the store?”

“I remember who Morgan is. Why does she have a concertina?”

“She’s got a group of friends who get together sometimes to play Irish folk music, and she thought I might be interested in joining them.”

“Okay.” David nodded a bit more than was strictly necessary while he tried to process all this new information. “So, I don’t ever actually have to hear you play it. Or think about it.”

“Well, we were planning on performing at the Asbestos Fest…”

David closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Okay. I can deal with this.”

Patrick leaned in closer, sliding his other hand up David’s chest. 

“Morgan plays violin, that’s normal enough, right?” he murmured in David’s ear. “Do you think you can handle that?”

With the promise of violin, David felt emotionally prepared for Patrick’s performance at the Asbestos Fest. Unfortunately, he was not emotionally prepared for bagpipes.

“Stevie? _ Stevie!_” he hissed as the band walked on stage, also elbowing her just in case saying her name twice hadn’t gotten her attention. “Do you _ see _ that?”

“Your fiancé holding a tiny toy accordion? Yes, I see it.”

“No. The _ bagpipes_.”

“Oh, _ those_. You see, I was a bit too distracted by the weird drum to notice. What’s that thing he’s using to play the drum, anyway? Is that one of those wooden spoons you sell at the store?”

“Morgan makes those spoons, you know. She might’ve made that thing, too.”

Stevie pressed a finger to her lips to shush David as the band began to play.

The piece started with guitar and violin—and no concertina. Patrick was just sitting there, holding the concertina in his lap, bobbing his head to the music. David wasn’t sure how Patrick could look so comfortable; if it had been David on that stage, holding a ridiculous instrument like a _ concertina _, he’d probably look as awkward and uncomfortable as he felt. But Patrick looked confident. He probably felt confident, too. How did he manage it? David hadn’t even heard him practice, and wasn’t that something people were supposed to do? Had Patrick been waiting to practice only when David wasn’t there? 

When the other instruments joined in, it wasn’t as bad as David had expected. The concertina was mostly in the background, and bagpipes were pretty easy to ignore, since they were playing along to the violin’s jaunty melody. The weird drum was alright, too. It was lively, and fun, and unexpectedly pleasant.

As David watched the band perform, his eyes kept being drawn back to Patrick. He wasn’t doing anything particularly impressive, as far as David could tell; it wasn’t, like… virtuosic concertina playing. Was that a thing that even existed? Were there concertina virtuosos? David really had no idea. It still looked impressive, though, and it must have been at least somewhat challenging, considering how Patrick’s brow was furrowed in concentration. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and the way his forearms flexed as his arms moved back and forth was very distracting. And then there was the way he cradled the concertina so gently in his lap, even while his fingers moved confidently and forcefully over the buttons...

Fuck. David thought it was attractive. David thought that Patrick looked hot like this. What was it about this man, this spectacular, infuriating man, that he could somehow make the _ concertina _—an instrument David hadn’t even known existed until last week—attractive?

David quickly averted his eyes from the stage. This was getting too intense, and he needed a moment to collect himself. Looking down at the floor, he saw Stevie was tapping her foot with the music. But then something changed in the rhythm of the music, and Stevie lost the beat. Smirking, David looked up at Stevie to tease her. But then he saw the look on Stevie’s face; she was clearly enjoying the performance just as much as he was, and he didn’t want to distract her.

David decided to save the teasing for later, and returned his attention to the stage and his inexplicably attractive concertina-playing fiancé.

* * *

After they got married and moved into their new house, David didn’t really think about Patrick’s accordions. Except for when Patrick went to rehearsals at Morgan’s, they mostly stayed in the closet along with his guitars. David didn’t understand why Patrick needed more than one guitar, much like how Patrick didn’t understand why David needed so many sweaters; but they both knew they needed to accept it anyway.

When Patrick told David that he'd be performing at a music festival with Morgan’s band, and that the three of them were going to drive there along with Stevie, it didn’t even occur to David to be worried. He’d seen Patrick perform with Morgan’s band lots of times. He had no reason to expect anything would be different this time.

Then he found out it was a bluegrass festival. When they were already halfway there.

“Bluegrass!? You don’t even _ play _ bluegrass,” he said, craning his neck towards the backseat to glare at Morgan. 

“We decided to branch out,” she said, smiling serenely. “Didn’t Patrick tell you?”

David immediately turned to wordlessly glare at Patrick. Patrick didn’t look back at him, of course, because he was dutifully keeping his eyes on the road and his hands firmly on the steering wheel. He was probably driving exactly the speed limit, too. David saw his arms tense as he gripped the steering wheel a little tighter.

“David doesn’t really like to… I mean, he’s not… I just didn’t think he was very interested in my music stuff.” Patrick cleared his throat and risked a very quick sideways glance at David. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” he said softly.

“So,” said Stevie loudly, “I’m guessing this means Patrick also didn’t tell you what instrument he’s playing today.”

David tried to remember if he’d seen a new instrument when Morgan and Patrick had been loading up the trunk, but he couldn’t remember. He hadn’t been paying attention, because he’d thought there was no reason to. David had foolishly assumed this would be a nice, normal trip to a nice, normal music festival without any surprises. David could feel the anxiety welling up inside of him, so he closed his eyes and tried to steady his breathing.

* * *

The rest of the drive was agony, because David had figured out very quickly that no one was willing to tell him what instrument Patrick would be playing today. Morgan and Stevie were giddy with excitement about the surprise, while Patrick actually seemed kind of nervous. This was very unusual, and only made David more anxious. 

Stevie dragged David away from the car before Patrick and Morgan started unloading the trunk, so he wasn’t even able to sneak a glance of the mystery instrument. 

“You do realize this is not at all funny,” David said as Stevie dragged him towards the food trucks. 

“You need to get your sense of humor checked out, because I think this is hilarious,” Stevie said. “Moving on to more important things: which food truck smells best to you?”

Once they were fully prepared with funnel cakes and plastic cups of overpriced beer, David and Stevie headed over to the outdoor stage where Patrick and Morgan would be performing. The band was already on stage, and just as David and Stevie found a good spot to stand, the music started. Morgan began with a violin solo, and it didn’t even sound like bluegrass; it was slow, and pretty, and tasteful. So David was hopeful.

Then Patrick started playing.

“Um. Stevie?”

“Yes, David?”

“That’s a banjo.”

“It sure is.”

David’s brain stopped working for a moment. It was as if his mind was stalled and racing at the same time. He couldn’t even hear what Patrick was playing over the whirr of white noise in his head. 

“What are those things on his fingers?” David blurted out, barely aware he’d said the question out loud.

“Those appear to be finger picks. For playing the banjo,” Stevie answered.

“I didn’t know banjo players used finger picks.”

“I don’t know if all of them do, but your husband certainly does.”

David’s mind raced as he watched the band play. Patrick sounded… competent. No, not just competent; he sounded good. How did he sound this good? He had to have been practicing, right? But when had he found the _ time _? Maybe he already knew how to play the banjo. But David would have known if Patrick played the banjo, right? Isn’t that the kind of thing people know about each other, when they’re married? David felt like he knew his husband pretty well, but now he wasn’t so sure.

Patrick’s wedding ring glinted in the sunlight as his left hand moved across the fretboard. He was playing the same melody that Morgan had played on her violin at first, except this was a much more complicated version. The finger picks on his right hand were weird, but Patrick obviously didn’t care. He looked completely at ease with the fact that he had _ picks _ strapped to his _ fingers_, and it was clear from the way he nimbly plucked the strings that he knew exactly how to use them. 

As David listened, that same melody kept repeating, with only slight changes each time. The repetition was almost meditative, and gradually, everything in David’s mind narrowed down to focus only on Patrick—who in turn was focused only on his banjo playing. But then Patrick’s attention shifted to the other side of the stage. This threw David out of his trance, and reminded him that there were other musicians on stage with Patrick. Quite a lot of them, in fact. And—wait, what was _ that _?

“Stevie.”

Stevie sighed. “Yes, David?”

“That man is playing accordion.”

“Yes, and that other man is playing guitar wrong, he’s got it sideways across his lap. What’s your point?”

“If they needed accordion, why couldn’t Patrick play that instead?”

“Are you complaining about the banjo?”

David opened his mouth to reply, then thought better of it, and snapped his mouth shut.

Stevie and Morgan chatted the whole drive home, but David and Patrick were quiet. David didn’t think the silence was uncomfortable. He was tired, and overwhelmed, and not really in the mood to talk. Mostly, he just wanted to get home and go to sleep, and he assumed this was obvious.

When he and Patrick finally got home, he realized it was not obvious.

“David, I don’t know what your problem is,” said Patrick as he stormed into the living room and opened up the closet to put away his banjo, where it was now apparently going to live with his guitars and accordions. 

“Um. I don’t know what my problem is, either?” said David. Patrick ignored him and kept talking, pacing back and forth as he spoke.

“I get that you’re upset. I get that, for some reason I simply can’t wrap my head around, it makes you mad when I learn new things. I know you don’t care about music. That’s fine. I’m glad we have different interests. We don’t have to like the same things.”

“Um—”

Patrick’s voice grew louder. “But if you’re going to be like this every time I—I play a new instrument, or a new style of music, or, or just do _ anything _ you think is—weird, or incorrect, maybe you shouldn’t come to my shows.”

“Patrick—”

“I _ like _ having you at my shows,” Patrick said, nearly shouting. “I really, really do. I like knowing that you’re there in the audience, I like to feel like you’re supportive of me even if you don’t actually understand or care.” Patrick stopped for a moment to collect himself. His jaw clenched, then he continued, his voice softening. “But if you can’t… do that, if that’s not something you’re capable of, then I don’t think I want you there when I perform.”

David blinked and stared. What was going _ on_? 

“Wow. Um. Okay. I can… stay home next time. If that’s what you need.” 

Patrick nodded curtly, then went into the bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

David sat down on the couch in a bit of a daze, trying to figure out where everything had gone wrong. He curled up at the far end of the couch, grabbing a pillow and hugging it to his chest as he listened to the sounds of Patrick puttering about in their bedroom and the adjoining bathroom. He was just beginning to consider getting up to grab a late night snack when Patrick emerged from the bedroom and joined David on the couch. Patrick sat down at the other end of the couch and clasped his hands between his knees.

“Hey,” Patrick said softly. 

“Hi,” David replied, sitting up slightly, and still hugging the pillow tightly.

“I’m sorry,” Patrick began. “It… wasn’t my idea to keep it a secret from you. The bluegrass, and the banjo, I mean. Morgan thought it would be funny, and Stevie went along with it, so I went along with it too. I…” Patrick leaned his head back and scrubbed a hand over his face. “I knew that you’d be weird about it if I told you. I knew it would upset you, and I didn’t want to upset you. So I just… didn’t tell you. But that was wrong; I should have told you, I should have considered your feelings and not just my own. So. I’m sorry about that.”

“Patrick,” David said, scooting over on the couch and reaching out to rest a hand on his shoulder. “I’m not upset.”

Patrick finally turned to face David. “You’re not upset,” he repeated skeptically.

“Well,” David continued, “I’m kind of upset that you didn’t tell me. I don’t really like to be surprised like that. But I’m not upset about… about the banjo. Or the bluegrass, really. And I’m not trying to be weird about it.”

Patrick stared at David for a moment, waiting for him to continue. But David wasn’t sure what else to say, and the way Patrick was looking at him was making him uncomfortable. He hugged the pillow tightly to his chest again for protection.

“Okay,” Patrick finally broke the silence. “You’re not trying to be weird about it. But you kind of _ are _ being weird about it? Can you tell me why?”

David started to nod his head, then tried to shake his head, then gave a little shrug. It was a gesture that clarified nothing.

“David…” Patrick leaned towards David. He couldn’t get very close with David’s protective pillow in the way, but he got as close as he could, running his hand comfortably up and down David’s arm and pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. “It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it. But I think it would help me, if I could understand what—”

“I think it’s hot,” David muttered.

Patrick froze, his hand coming to rest on David’s shoulder. “What?”

“I said, I think it’s _ hot_,” David repeated, only slightly more loudly. “Watching you play guitar is hot. Watching you play _ accordion _ is hot. Even watching you play the fucking _ banjo _ with those—those stupid _ things _ on your fingers, which remind me of your rubber fingertip condoms which are _ also _ not hot, except when you wear them, because you… it’s like you have a _ superpower_, but it’s not a cool superpower like invisibility or flying; instead you have the ability to make the least sexy things in the _ world _ attractive. Like department store jeans, and spreadsheets, and rubber fingertips.”

“And banjo,” Patrick offered.

“Yes,” David huffed. “And banjo.”

“So you’re upset... because you’re attracted to me?” Patrick had that look he got when he thought David was being a bit ridiculous, that little half-suppressed smile—yet another thing about him that David was unwillingly attracted to. 

“No. I’m upset because I’m attracted to you when you play the banjo.”

“Oh, alright. I can see how that’s an important distinction to make.” Patrick wasn’t trying to hide his smile, now. He tugged on David’s pillow, tossing it to the side, then leaned in to kiss David.

Pulling away a little bit, Patrick whispered against David’s lips, “And what exactly is it that’s so attractive about it, David? Can you tell me?”

“Well, it’s—” Patrick was kissing David’s neck now; it was very distracting. “It’s, um, your hands.” 

“My hands?” Patrick prompted, then returned to kissing David’s neck.

“They’re very… capable? Like you know what you’re doing?” David knew he wasn’t explaining himself very well, but Patrick really couldn’t expect him to be capable of expressing himself coherently at a time like this.

“I see,” Patrick murmured, lifting his head to kiss David on the lips. This was nice, too; nicer, in fact, because now David didn’t have to talk, which meant he didn’t have to think, either.

But a moment later, Patrick pulled away again, cupping David’s face in his hands. “What else?”

“Mm?” David was confused. Why had Patrick stopped kissing him?

“What else do you like about it? It can’t just be my hands.”

Oh, right. Patrick had _ questions. _

“Um,” David said, trying to remember what he was supposed to be saying. Patrick reached down to tug on David’s shirt, and David lifted his arms to help him remove it. Then Patrick pulled away for a moment so he could take off his own shirt, and that little bit of distance allowed David’s brain to come back online just enough to remember what they were talking about. “Your… forearms. They’re also very, um. Nice.”

“I don’t use my forearms to play the banjo, David.” Patrick slung one leg across David’s lap and straddled him, rubbing his hands over David’s bare chest.

“Well, maybe not directly, but you usually roll your sleeves up and—okay, that is _ not _ fair, you can’t ask me questions and—” David gasped as Patrick bit down on his shoulder. 

“So, is it just my hands and forearms, then? Or are there any other parts of my body you like to watch when I’m playing banjo?” Patrick pulled away from David’s shoulder, which was a relief, because it meant David could think again; but it was also terrible, because it meant now Patrick wasn’t biting David’s shoulder. But then Patrick started grinding his hips down against David, slow and dirty; and David reached down to grab his ass, and—fuck, Patrick had asked him a question, hadn’t he?

“It… I mean… it’s not just banjo,” David gasped. “It’s… anything. Whenever you perform, you look so focused, and confident, and… prepared?”

“I do practice, you know,” Patrick breathed in David’s ear. “And practice makes perfect.”

Patrick began nibbling on David’s ear, still grinding down against him. Patrick had changed into pajamas, but David was still wearing jeans, which was not okay; his jeans were getting uncomfortably tight, and he couldn’t feel Patrick very well through this many layers. And he really needed to feel Patrick.

“Let’s—” David pushed Patrick away, even though he really, _ really _ didn’t want to, but he knew this would be better if they just— “Let’s move this to the bedroom, okay?”

“Alright,” said Patrick, pressing one last lingering kiss to David’s jaw before standing up. “Should I bring the banjo?”

David rolled his eyes and swatted Patrick’s ass as he followed him into the bedroom. Patrick sat down on the bed and watched as David took off his jeans.

“So,” Patrick said, “what I’m getting from this is that you like watching me use my hands to do something that I’ve practiced enough to be very good at it.”

“Mmhm,” David replied, sitting next to Patrick on the bed.

“You like watching me perform,” Patrick continued, smirking.

“Yes,” David said, leaning in to kiss Patrick. But Patrick leaned away.

“Well then,” he said, grinning. “Let me put on a show for you.” Patrick shifted up towards the headboard, leaning back against the pillows. David moved to follow him, but stopped as Patrick shook his head. “Uh-uh, no touching; I just want you to watch. Can you do that for me?”

David swallowed hard. “Okay, yeah, I can do that, that sounds good,” he babbled, arranging himself at the foot of the bed.

Smirking, Patrick reached down and stroked his cock through his pajamas. “What would you like to see, David?”

“Um. I’d say you’re off to a pretty good start.”

Patrick closed his eyes and leaned his head back as he continued lazily rubbing his cock. David could see a wet spot on Patrick’s pajamas, and he licked his lips, thinking about how much he wanted to get a taste.

Patrick let out a small groan, and David couldn’t take it anymore.

“Maybe, um, you could take off your pants? Please?”

Patrick opened his eyes and blinked, as if he needed a moment to remember what was happening. Then he scrambled to take off his pants, getting them caught on one ankle in his rush to take them off. David smiled, trying not to laugh, because that would be rude.

Then Patrick went back to touching himself, and David wasn’t laughing anymore. 

Patrick closed his eyes again. He stroked himself slowly, stopping once or twice to collect some precome and spread it over the rest of his cock. His other hand was resting on his thigh, his fingers twitching and clenching as if Patrick didn’t even realize he was doing it. David wanted to grab that hand; he wanted to feel Patrick’s hands on his own thigh, on his own cock; he wanted to suck on Patrick’s fingers. He wanted to cover Patrick’s fingers with lube and put them inside him.

David sat on his hands so that he wouldn’t be tempted to reach out and touch.

Patrick kept up the slow pace, but when he moved his hand from his thigh to cup his balls, David couldn’t help but let out a little whimper. Patrick opened his eyes, looking at David as if he’d just remembered he was there.

Patrick smiled almost shyly. “Is this working for you?” he whispered.

“You have no idea,” David said, shaking his head. “You look so good, Patrick.”

“I’m glad,” Patrick replied. “Do you…” Patrick bit his lip. “Do you have any requests? Should I just keep doing this?” 

David pressed his lips together to try to suppress his smile. His beautiful, amazing husband, who could play the banjo in front of hundreds of people without batting an eye, was somehow still shy about touching himself in front of his husband. 

“This is great, baby. Maybe… if I can’t touch you, can I touch myself? You’re so hot, it’s making me so hard; I want to touch myself.”

“I was…” Patrick gasped as he kept stroking himself, picking up the pace. “I was hoping to get my hands on you once I’m done here. Since you like my hands so much.”

“Your hands are gorgeous, Patrick. _ You’re _ gorgeous. You make me feel so good.” David squirmed, keeping his hands tucked firmly under his thighs. “You look amazing like this. Watching you touch yourself? It makes me think of how I feel when you touch me. You’re so—” David dug his fingers into his thighs so hard he thought it might leave a mark. “—you’re so good with your hands, Patrick. You can… you can really fuck me up, just with your hands.”

Patrick tilted his head back and groaned as he came.

David scrambled up the bed to lie on his side next to Patrick.

“Fuck, that was so hot; I want to touch you now, can I?”

Patrick’s eyes fluttered open. David could tell Patrick was struggling to form words, but he really needed to hear Patrick say yes.

“Please, let me touch you now, okay?”

“Uh-huh,” Patrick managed, nodding.

David kissed Patrick deeply, and then his hands were all over—touching Patrick’s face, his chest, his thighs; but not his cock, because he was probably still too sensitive. David’s own cock, however, was sadly neglected, straining hard against his underwear. Still using one hand to touch Patrick everywhere he could, David reached his other hand down to touch himself.

Gradually, Patrick seemed to emerge from his post-orgasmic haze. He responded to David’s kisses, and he reached out and stroked David’s back, his arm, his hair. Then his hand wandered lower and gently but firmly removed David’s hand from his cock and replaced it with his own.

“I told you I wanted to touch you when I was done,” Patrick said. 

David let out a frankly embarrassing sound, and scrambled to pull his underwear down so Patrick could touch him properly. He didn’t even manage to get it all the way off, just down around his thighs, and then Patrick was _ all over _ him; touching his cock, his balls, his chest, his face. David tried to return the favor, but it was hard. It was difficult to focus, because it all felt so good; having to wait and watch Patrick get off had made David oversensitive, and now every touch from Patrick sent shivers through him. 

David’s hand brushed across Patrick’s stomach and he felt something wet—he realized it must be Patrick’s come, which he had forgotten about. How had he forgotten about that? Raising his hand to his mouth, David moaned as he sucked Patrick’s come off his fingers.

“Oh my god, David, that’s—here, let me help,” Patrick said, continuing to jerk David off with one hand while he quickly swiped his other hand across his stomach then reached up to pull David’s fingers out of his mouth and replace them with his own. David gasped at the sudden change, then eagerly licked and sucked at Patrick’s fingers. 

Patrick had been moving closer and closer to David, as if any distance at all between them was too much. Finally Patrick shifted to straddle him, working David’s cock even harder as he thrust his fingers in and out of David’s mouth.

“Come on, David; I want to make you come—”

David was whimpering, now; he was so close, but he couldn’t quite—

“You were so good, watching and waiting for me like that; you did so well, now I want to see you come.”

And with that, David shuddered and came. He was still shaking from the aftershocks of his orgasm as Patrick leaned forward, took David’s face in his hands, and kissed him soundly.

* * *

Quite a bit later, they’d cleaned up, put on clean pajamas, and gotten back in bed. Patrick was curled snugly up against David’s back, and David was just beginning to doze off when he heard Patrick say something.

“What was that?” David slurred, only half awake.

“I said, next time, should we bring the banjo to bed with us?”

David groaned. “I dunno, I’m not sure I’d want to come between you and your precious banjo. Things seem pretty serious between you two.”

Patrick huffed a laugh into the back of David’s neck. “Maybe we’ll leave Becky in the closet, then.”

“Oh my god. Your banjo’s name is _ Becky_? Do your other instruments have names? Wait, don’t tell me; I don’t want to know. I already wish I didn’t know about Becky.”

David could feel Patrick shaking a bit as he laughed. They lay there in comfortable silence for a moment, Patrick gently stroking his hand up and down David’s chest.

“Maybe—” David began. “Those finger pick things? They seem like they might feel kind of interesting? Like, for sensory play?”

Patrick’s hand stopped moving.

“David, I am continually amazed by your ability to make things about sex,” Patrick said.

“You’re the one who asked about including the banjo in our sex life!” David huffed. “This is your fault!”

David could feel Patrick shaking with laughter again, but he didn’t care; he was laughing, too.

“We should go to sleep.”

“I _ was _ asleep. Or almost there, anyway. Then you brought up Becky.”

Patrick sighed. “Good night, David.”

“This is all your fault. I could be asleep right now.”

“And good night, Patrick,” Patrick mimicked, “thank you for taking me to that lovely music festival today—”

“I could be dreaming of a world without accordions—”

“—and for the earth-shattering orgasm you gave me.” Patrick continued, ignoring David’s interruption.

“—and a world without banjos.”

“Do you really want that, though? A world without banjos?” Even without seeing his face, David could hear Patrick’s smile.

“No,” David said. “No, I don’t.”

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Accordion: ["Sentimental"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XjvK_7fLl_Y) by Astor Piazzolla
> 
> Concertina: ["l’Air Mignonne (Canadian Sunshine)"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DFalXoDhurA) by Ímar
> 
> Banjo: ["Big Country"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_K_PMVdb-c0) by Béla Fleck


End file.
